


the gates of the garden

by mafuyuukis (aslanjades)



Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Assisted Suicide, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslanjades/pseuds/mafuyuukis
Summary: “I want to build a garden.”Mafuyu drew his eyebrows together. They sat on the dusty floor of an abandoned marketplace with aching backs, terribly dirty fingernails, and the faint odor of decaying flesh in the air, yet Yuuki managed to think about building a garden, of all things.Mafuyu laughed. He couldn’t help it.Alternatively: Mafuyu faces the end of the world as the world as he knows it, but he never does it alone.





	the gates of the garden

**Author's Note:**

> This fic—part really, considering the fact that part two will be a thing—took a lot out of me over a timespan of more than month. It challanged me to create the most morbid, heart wrenching story I could using the most words I ever had. I quit multiple times. I hated every word that went into the document multiple times. 
> 
> I still do. In a different way.
> 
> A special thanks to [Ivan](https://mobile.twitter.com/shizuragis) for constantly telling me that I could do it and not questioning me when I veered off the path a few times. A lot of times.
> 
> Comments are more than appreciated. 
> 
> Have fun x

MAFUYU DIDN’T KNOW HOW THEY ENDED UP THERE.

He could either say that it started with a virus or with a woman’s flight from New York City to Tokyo, but even then, the virus had existed in its non-recombinant form prior, and that woman wasn’t the sole bearer of it to land in Japan within the transformation period. That was what the news said, at least—when it was still broadcasting.

Mafuyu didn’t quite believe in a definitive start, anyway. Just like one could argue that the world began with a bang, when the last particle was drawn towards the nearly fully-formed mass, or when the first microorganism came to be, he couldn’t label the exact moment the transformation period began and his life shifted so drastically.

Whenever it happened, whoever was to blame, this was what it was, and thoughts of his life before seemed like products of his imagination so much that he was almost convinced that this was what it had always been.

Almost.

He remembered going out with Yuuki before the Turning Point. Both of their mothers were working that day, and Shizu and Hiiragi were somewhere else doing whatever they did when they were together—Yuuki and Mafuyu had questions about what that was, but anyone could say the same for them—so it was just the two of them. With no eyes watching, it was exchanging an abundance of kisses and intertwining their hands, walking with too much bounce in their steps, pulling each other close, and letting each other go just to experience the warmth that connection brought once again. 

The sun was out. The air was warm. Neither of them could have possibly foreseen Tokyo’s impending infestation of shells of human beings possessing no cognitive skills and an insatiable desire to incite violence. Neither of them could have foreseen the previously idle emergency sirens spread throughout the city blaring, and certainly not the orders given to evacuate the city just when they turned and headed towards home.

Some infection, they called it, that couldn’t be quarantined and would only continue spreading with such a populace in a condensed area. Within an hour, Tokyo had gone from its bustling but organized state to uncontrolled chaos, to a malfunctioning train system and houses abandoned for an unknown period of time. 

In more ways than one, the city had become a ghost town. 

Mafuyu and Yuuki stayed hand in hand as they watched the only city they’d ever known morph into someplace foreign; as they entered a deserted home, swapped the relatively new guitar in Yuuki’s case for nonperishable goods, hygiene products, and whatever else seemed useful and listened to the radio as it gave perspective on the situation; as they waited for the streets to settle down enough for them to head out; as they wandered to the outskirts of the prefecture—towards Kanagawa—and settled down in a small convenience store that had been mostly overlooked in raids.

When their home was being torn to shreds, they made one of their own. 

The days shifted by, hours blending into one another as their new lifestyle was solidified. They didn’t know if or when the makeshift form of existence would end, but one didn’t seem in sight, so they made it what they could. It wasn’t a traditional normal, but it could be a new one.

Mafuyu didn’t know they ended up there, but they had.

In the end, nothing else mattered.

* * *

Living on their own quickly proved to be dramatically different than Mafuyu and Yuuki had imagined when they stared at the ceiling once, backs against the latter’s bed, and discussed how their lives would change, how they wouldn’t have to hide anything. Perhaps it was due to the extreme contrast in circumstances. Perhaps their childish innocence had blinded their vision.

They didn’t have to hide, sure, but it was more than kissing out in the open—as open as the storage room of a cramped, abandoned store could be—and sleeping in each other’s arms. It was missing Hiiragi and Shizusumi, the other half of the close knit group they had formed during their childhood, and hoping their mothers had made it to shelter alright. It was being petrified of what was outside and rationing food and water to last them as long as possible.

Running low on bottled water after only a few weeks despite the conservation efforts, Yuuki and Mafuyu made their way to the river that wasn’t too far from there, one they had passed on their journey towards shelter. It wasn’t too close to Tokyo, luckily, but it was far enough. They both knew it would be a trek that would last all day with their destination being miles out, and that the way back would be even more unbearable with gallons of water weighing them down, but they needed the air, anyway. 

So they headed out at the crack of dawn and walked. Walked as the sun made its way across the sky, and walked as the heat shifted from moderate to bothersome.

The warmth prompted the accelerated rise of a putrid odor, one that couldn’t easily be ignored. After the first mile or so, Yuuki took off his jacket—the fabric was airy, sure, but how he had kept it on for so long was still a mystery—draped the back on top of Mafuyu’s nose and mouth, and, with nimble fingers, tied the sleeves and the hem around the back into a knot. The makeshift mask allowed Mafuyu to breathe in Yuuki’s faint, natural scent of pine and mint instead, and though it was intermixed with an inevitable twinge of sweat, it was much more pleasant than what he was inhaling before. Yuuki himself continued breathing in the tainted air, his pursed lips and furrowed brows expressing his difficulty with doing so.

After a few more steps, he halted, covering his mouth. Just when Mafuyu thought he was going to be sick, Yuuki veered off the street with neither a warning nor explanation, purposefully walking between a cluster of trees with the collar of his white button-down pulled over his nose. Mafuyu stayed only a couple of paces behind him, trying to peer over his shoulder to sneak a glimpse of whatever had captured his attention.

Before he could, though, Yuuki was grabbing his wrist and pulling him close behind him. “Don’t look.”

The usual assertiveness in his voice was gone, and Mafuyu didn’t know if that or his curiosity was to blame for how he still peeked at the sight that was emitting such a pungent odor, all the while pressing the fabric over his nose and mouth down even more. He could hardly breathe, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He was looking at a human body.

It hadn’t been a functioning one for days, judging by how the skin had turned a sickening red shade. Blood leaked from the mouth and was likely the cause of the darkened patch of dirt beneath the head, and maggots and flies gathered on top of and around the corpse.

As if that wasn’t foul enough, a chunk of flesh appeared to have been bitten out of the arm proper.

Yuuki stepped forward and kicked at something near the body, the sound from the connection of his foot and the object confirming the solidity of it. Still clutching Mafuyu’s wrist, he bent down and, head turned away as he removed his fingers from the wings of his nose, picked it up.

Standing again, analyzed it for a moment. Two. With strategic placement, the item stayed out of Mafuyu’s view, no matter how much he leaned or straightened to maneuver around the block Yuuki had created with his body. And eventually, satisfied with the discovery or too repulsed to stay, Yuuki turned around and headed towards the street again. Mafuyu followed, eyes still trailing to Yuuki’s free hand to see what he had picked up.

When they were on the street again, Yuuki lifted his hand, showcasing a handgun. Eyes focused, he lightly ran a finger over the hammer, then shifted it around to get a look around it. Mafuyu subconsciously stepped to the side a bit.

“Must have been a JDF officer,” Yuuki muttered, still moving the gun around. In one hand, he held the grip. The other poked and picked at a button, eventually dislodging the magazine and fumbling with it. When he got a stable hold on it again, Yuuki peered at the contents. “Hm. It’s loaded.”

“Be careful.” Mafuyu’s words came out lower than intended, but he was too shaken to raise it. The apocalypse had been raging on for weeks, but he hadn’t yet fathomed the fact that it was real. But that dead body, the bugs violating it as if it hadn’t been breathing, moving, _living_ once, painted the image of a reality that was morbid, inescapable, and utterly terrifying. 

“I’m being careful,” Yuuki said as he shoved the magazine back into the body of the pistol.

He held the gun out in front of him, his awkward grip communicating his unfamiliarity with it. Mafuyu squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating an explosive noise, but relaxed after a few moments of waiting in silence. When he pried his eyes open, Yuuki had the gun by his side, clearly done with experimenting with it.

“Alright,” Yuuki sighed, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. Mafuyu watched with parted lips as he did so; he had secretly been wishing that Yuuki would get bored with it and toss it to the curb before continuing on, but somehow, he fully intended on keeping it. 

“We’re taking it?” 

“I just want to keep you safe,” Yuuki explained, straightening out his shirt so it draped atop the gun. Through the white cotton, Mafuyu could still see an outline of black.

Mafuyu answered with no hesitation. He wasn’t unsure of that. He never had been. “I know.”

At the show of trust, Yuuki turned over his shoulder and smiled. He held out a hand, and Mafuyu slowly placed one of his own in it. “Come on. We wasted time, so it’s gonna be even later when we get home.”

“Yeah . . .”

As Yuuki struck up a conversation, Mafuyu nodded and hummed along for his sake, just enough to carry it along and pass the time. But beneath the surface, his mind was occupied by other things—by corpses and conventional weapons.

* * *

Yuuki had always been a talented, talented person. 

Half of that was showcased in the way he could play guitar so masterfully despite beginning to learn not long ago, only a few months, if Mafuyu wasn’t mistaken. Yuuki still complained about the absence of it sometimes, still grumbled about how much time he could have passed and how many songs he could have written, still pondered about whether the owners of the house he left it in would disregard the fact that he had broken in and kindly hand it over after the world around them returned to normal. He was so sure they would, for he hadn’t stolen anything but food that would have rotten and bottled water that would have expired, anyway.

Mafuyu missed the guitar too, in a funny kind of way. At one point, he had started to loathe the thing that occupied so much of his counterpart’s time, but there was still something undeniably beautiful in the way Yuuki played. His eyes would narrow as he focused on plucking each individual string in time, and those ordered notes would tell stories when they were strung along. 

The thought alone was magic. Mafuyu hadn’t felt anything magical in a long time. 

They’d been lying like that for half an hour by then, and neither of them had said a single word. There wasn’t much to say, even after Mafuyu racked his brain for a conversation starter that wouldn’t yield only one or two lines in response from Yuuki. He could talk for hours about how the moonlight illuminated his skin so ethereally, or how it reflected off of his eyes in a way that made them shine more than usual, but Yuuki would merely laugh the compliments off like he always did, no matter how much Mafuyu meant them. So he let the silence remain, let it blanket them in its typical way.

Until Yuuki suddenly turned away and sat up, back to Mafuyu. After those quick movements in the dark, he remained still, head facing forward. Curious, Mafuyu rose and scooted next to him, glaring at what had crossed his mind so quickly. 

The gun they had found more than a week ago rested on the white shelf, eye level with Yuuki. 

He stared.

“Are you thinking about the officer?” Mafuyu asked, voice quiet. No matter how much time had passed, the image wouldn’t erase itself from Mafuyu’s own mind. He hadn’t mentioned it because he didn’t want to dim Yuuki’s spirits, but there was a deadweight in his heart that didn’t seem as though it would pass so quickly.

Mafuyu didn’t know that officer’s name. Could hardly tell the sex either, nor was he actually sure that it was a JDF officer—that was just an occupation thrown out to explain the presence of the gun. But he knew for sure that a human life had been lost, and that they weren’t the only one. Beyond their view, Tokyo’s streets, woods, neighborhoods had more than likely become a mass grave. It wasn’t unfeasible to that they had only gotten a glimpse of the great scope.

“I’ve been doing that a lot, thinking.” Yuuki let out a winded sigh and leaned over, lazily falling onto Mafuyu’s lap and looking up. One of Mafuyu’s hands found its way into mussed Yuuki’s blonde hair, brushing through the strands. “It’s killing me. It’s killing me to think about this . . . this _human being_ getting infected and shooting themself.”

Mafuyu blinked, the image from that day reforming. He’d seen a lot, but he hadn’t seen that much. He supposed it could explain the pool of blood around the head or the proximity of the gun to the upper body, but the thought and its vividness was still jolting. A part of him was grateful that he hadn’t laid eyes on such a morbid sight, but he Yuuki didn’t deserve to bear the burden alone. 

Yuuki closed his eyes, rubbing his temple. “It’s killing me because I fucking get it. I wouldn’t want to turn either. What contributions do you make if you do? You’re going on, but what for?”

Softly, Mafuyu uttered, “I didn’t know you thought about this.”

“What? Of course I do.”

But truly, Mafuyu couldn’t tell. Yuuki had seemingly taken the gun so decidedly upon laying eyes on it, and he seemed to be in good spirits all the way down to the river. The sight hadn’t seemed to resonate with him, but at the same time, the same could be said for Mafuyu. They both concealed their true feelings for the other’s sake, so Mafuyu couldn’t be sure what inner turmoil Yuuki was enduring. 

The thought made his stomach lurch.

“By the river, when I disappeared for a few minutes? I thought I was going to be sick, but I couldn’t. It was like all of the processes within my body halted because my mind was on overdrive and nothing else had the energy to function.” Running his hands over his face, Yuuki mumbled, “I never want to turn.”

Mafuyu froze. 

From the beginning, they’d had a silent agreement to not even propose the possibility no matter how candid it was, because it wouldn’t be good for either of them if they did. Years and years of history and their survival amidst utter catastrophe that would have been unfathomable without each other went to show how essential they were to one another. The mere concept of losing the other was earth-shattering.

“That’s a second death; the first is when you get bitten. That second one is unforgiving, and I never want my existence to go hand in hand with suffering. I don’t want to roam this earth as a converse of myself. What’s the point when I can hurt somebody? When I can hurt _you_?”

Just as Mafuyu was going to protest—he couldn’t imagine Yuuki hurting him in the slightest—Yuuki pulled himself up, placing his arms on the floor behind him as support. He jutted his head out so he was close to Mafuyu, and Mafuyu looked into his eyes, hoping to find an understanding of his soul in them.

“I want you to promise me something.” Shifting his weight to his far hand, Yuuki intertwined his fingers with Mafuyu’s, gaze somehow growing more piercing than before. “I want you to promise me that if something ever happens to me—”

“No.”

Yuuki frowned. “I didn’t finish.” 

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” 

And Mafuyu knew he couldn’t guarantee that, but he meant it. He would use every manifestation technique, pray to whatever God would answer, and run to the end of the earth if it meant that his words could be ensured. 

“I know, but hypothetically, Mafuyu. I want you to promise me that if I get infected, you won’t let me turn. We’ll take control back, yeah? Promise me that you’ll let me go out as me.” 

Mafuyu blinked. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of Yuuki’s fingers laced through his, of his gaze, of his commanding presence. Could he rid the earth of such a brilliant life force even in such dire circumstances? Could he ever persevere in his absence?

But the way Yuuki looked at him made his heart skew from the track his mind was on. He wasn’t meant to cause anyone harm; it wasn’t in his composition. Any shift of chemicals in his brain that would change his pacific nature would rid him of what made him _him_, and that seemed to be more brutal an offense than ending his days while he was still the person Mafuyu grew up and fell in love with.

So, voice at a whisper—it was all he could muster, as he was still betraying himself by agreeing—he nodded. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Still slightly frowning, Yuuki leaned forward to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. “We don’t have to talk about it again.”

“Okay.”

Yuuki stood and helped Mafuyu to his feet, shifting around so Mafuyu was planted back in the spot he was in before. Together, they sat, then lay down. Rather than simply being turned inward to look at each other, Yuuki hugged Mafuyu close to him. Mafuyu placed his hands on his back and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the warmth of bare skin beneath his palms.

Yuuki had always been a talented, talented person. 

Half of that was showcased in the way he could play guitar so masterfully despite beginning to learn not long ago, only a few months, if Mafuyu wasn’t mistaken.

The other half was showcased in the way he express a thought that so greatly contradicted his usual positive nature and make Mafuyu ache to know what else ran rampant in that mind of his.

* * *

They didn’t talk about it again.

The conversation about the sight that went undiscussed for days prior served as a low point in their spirits, for what came in the following weeks held an air of optimism that had been smothered out before. Conversations were more lighthearted, the atmosphere felt less heavy, and the t-word (Mafuyu didn’t want to think about anyone or anything _turning_, even if it wasn’t Yuuki) hadn’t been uttered in that context.

Mafuyu felt like he could breathe again.

There was still light out as they sat in their provisional home, brightening the room and, concurrently, their moods. For hours, they conversed, the talking points being whatever came to mind; they discussed Hiiragi and Shizusumi and whether they had gotten together yet (Yuuki thought they had, but Mafuyu knew how unwilling to admit his feelings Hiiragi had always been) and recounted stories from their childhoods, smiling and radiating nostalgia. 

As Yuuki spoke, Mafuyu found himself watching him—watching his lips move, watching him lean his head back against the empty white shelf behind him. Almost subconsciously, he picked out the little things he saw: his piercings, all three, still snug in his ear; his eyes, still possessing that gleam that they had long before their lives became what they had become; and his hair, now less of an undercut and more of an uneven mess.

“Your hair is growing.” 

Yuuki groaned as he placed his hand at the back of his head, noticeably less discontent about his words being cut off than about the detail that was being pointed out. “It’s gross.”

Mafuyu pouted. “No, it’s cute. It’s like you’re little again.”

“Nope.” Leaning his head back against the shelf, Yuuki let out a sigh. “When all of this is over, the first thing I’m doing is getting a haircut.”

“Yeah? And what are your other grand plans?”

Despite the teasing tone of the question, Yuuki shut his eyes and, ever so faintly, smiled. 

“I want to build a garden.”

Mafuyu drew his eyebrows together. They sat on the dusty floor of an abandoned marketplace with aching backs, terribly dirty fingernails, and the faint odor of decaying flesh in the air, yet Yuuki managed to think about building a garden, of all things.

Mafuyu laughed. He couldn’t help it. And as if that laugh was sweeter than the scents of anything he could ever grow, Yuuki’s eyes lit up. Then they shut a bit, the way they always did when his grin grew too wide or he laughed too hard. 

“What? Here. In one section, we’ll have flowers.”

He turned around to face the cleared shelves behind him and, with his index finger, drew a line from the bottom of one shelf to that of another. Gesturing to the left of the portion he had indicated, he uttered, “We can plant cherry blossoms, chrysanthemums, sunflowers . . .

“And every morning,” he whispered, gazing into amber eyes. “I’ll bring you a bouquet. Without fail.”

“Okay.” Flustered—only Yuuki, so charming, could manage to make him feel that way in such an environment—Mafuyu looked down at his dirtied pants. They overdue for a wash, but neither of them were particularly aching to go down to the river and stay any longer than necessary. He picked at a loose thread, and, when his heartbeat settled, looked back up. “What else?”

“More? Were the flowers not enough?” Yuuki joked. Rather than waiting for a reaction, he pointed to the right of the already designated section of the imaginary garden. “Over here, we’ll plant vegetables.”

“You hate vegetables.”

“Yeah, I do. I fucking hate vegetables,” he laughed, throwing his head back, and sighed. Watching him do so, watching the curvature in his neck and the rigidness of his jawline become more defined, Mafuyu thought that, given his circumstances, there wasn’t a single place he would rather be. The world was falling apart at the seams, but his was intact and laughing towards the sky as if the stars would answer. 

Mafuyu didn’t think he would ever want to call anything beautiful again, but Yuuki looked _so_ fucking beautiful then. 

“I never want to see a vegetable again after this, really,” Yuuki admitted, lips still upturned. “But maybe we could throw in some fruits. Or if you cook them in a soup or something, I’ll eat it like it’s the best thing I ever had. Just because that would make you happy.”

Eyes still on the ceiling, Yuuki reached for Mafuyu’s hand and interlaced their fingers, his thumb tracing circles onto smooth skin. “And we’ll fuck it up so many times—we’ll accidentally plant radishes when we’re trying to grow turnips because neither of us have a clue what we’re doing—but when we finally get it right, it’ll be the happiest day in our lives.”

Mafuyu looked down at their hands, heart sinking.

The happiest day in their lives. He had thought about it here and there, mostly on the days when he was feeling optimistic about that day actually coming. He thought about someone—a JDF officer, perhaps—finding them and telling them they would be alright, maybe taking them somewhere else while Japan rebuilt. Maybe they would go somewhere they could get married. They could move into their own place—a real home.

Whatever they did, they would have a future. As long as they stayed holed up in the backroom of an old convenience store, one where they were truly happy and not trying to pretend they were for the sake of the other seemed impossible.

Mafuyu knew he shouldn’t have been asking, so his voice was quieted as he did. “Even happier than the day we get to go home?”

“Of course.” Yuuki didn’t hesitate, somehow. “The day we go home is gonna suck, Mafuyu. I mean, it’s gonna be so boring. We’ll be all, ‘Seriously? That was it? The big, scary apocalypse?’ But when we harvest our first carrot? I won’t shut up about it. I can see it now.” 

Mafuyu tried to smile, but his face stayed rigid, eyes still locked on his hand tucked in Yuuki’s. He couldn’t find the words to respond with, so he squeezed. Yuuki squeezed back, followed by a gentle nudge with his elbow. When Mafuyu didn’t react, Yuuki disconnected their hands and put his arm around him, pulling him close. Without hesitation, Mafuyu curled into him, like that spot that his head immediately rested at, where Yuuki’s shoulder met his neck, was undeniably his.

“You don’t have to believe me.” Yuuki’s voice was low, making his words seem more intimate. It hardly mattered that they were probably the only living beings in the vicinity, for Yuuki made it seem like he crafted and spoke each of his words just for Mafuyu, and if he spoke a decibel louder, someone else would hear. And it worked. “But I’m making a promise. I don’t intend on breaking it, okay? We’ll get out of here safe—you and me both—and we’ll build a garden.”

A garden. With his mind somewhat cleared after the reassurance, Mafuyu could visualize the vibrancy of the plants and smell the various fragrances they emitted. The thought was sweet. Idealistic. A nice escape for the five seconds that it lasted.

“I would like that,” Mafuyu uttered, managing a smile. Yuuki couldn’t see the gesture, but Mafuyu didn’t smile for his sake, anyway. He smiled because the thought of building a garden and sharing it with the one he loved was ridiculous but perfect, and in the moment, he truly believed that they would. Yuuki made a promise, after all, and he hadn’t broken one yet. “I want to build a garden with you, Yuuki.”

“Well, damn. It’s almost like a proposal.” Yuuki chuckled, tightening his arm around Mafuyu to bring him even closer. “Should we seal it?”

Just as Yuuki turned his head and averted his gaze downward, Mafuyu lifted his from Yuuki’s shoulder to look up. Placing a finger on his tilted chin, Yuuki leaned in, stopping centimeters from Mafuyu’s lips. He kept his eyes open and looking into Mafuyu’s, clearly seeking something without voicing it. He didn’t have to, anyway, because after just a moment’s hesitation, Mafuyu closed the space between them, sealing the promise for their future with a kiss. 

And when night fell, Mafuyu slept peacefully. He didn’t dream, but if he had, he would have dreamt of strategically arranged bouquets and fragrant, freshly picked food—

Straight from the garden they would build together.

* * *

Mafuyu wasn’t a light sleeper.

When he slept, he slept heavily, letting the hours fall away without so much as stirring. It wasn’t necessarily exhaustion that allowed him to sleep so soundly, either—there was just something comforting about retiring from reality for a while. He dreamt of pleasantries, and if he didn’t, at least whatever he did dream of was temporary. 

He couldn’t say the same about much when he was awake.

It wasn’t an inability to rest that allowed the slightest motion from Yuuki—turning onto his other side or sitting up to momentarily stretch after lying on the hard floor for so long—to wake Mafuyu nearly instantly. Rather, he considered it a sort of intuition formed by their bond and the haunting reality they lived in. Waking up for a few moments was nothing, for Mafuyu would fall back asleep after, and he would sleep reassured. 

When Yuuki stood that morning, grabbing onto the shirt and cardigan thrown onto on the white shelf and sluggishly shoving his arms through the sleeves, Mafuyu, little to Yuuki’s knowledge, had his eyes open. He watched every movement, as every button passed through its designated slot (with a bit of difficulty, reminding Mafuyu of how much of a child Yuuki still was), and waited for Yuuki to wake him up with the usual gentle brush of his hair or a squeeze of his hand.

Except he didn’t. Rather, he moved with added delicacy, slowly distributing weight from his heel to his toe with every intention of softening the impact of each step. 

With every intention of making sure Mafuyu didn’t awaken, even as he slid out of the door for a moment and stepped back in. 

Door still slightly ajar, Yuuki headed towards Mafuyu. He bent down next to him—bringing his lips dangerously close to his ear—and smiled, so close that Mafuyu could _feel_ it.

“Hey—“

Perhaps Mafuyu rose too quickly—quick enough to startle Yuuki, at least, and nearly quick enough to dispel any belief that he was sleeping. The moment he sat upright, Yuuki’s hand connected with his chest to gently push him back down, then a sweater was draped onto him.

“Relax, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Mafuyu propped himself up on his forearms. “Where are you going?”

“Scavenging. Maybe down to the river. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?” Yuuki smiled, rising from his bent position. Mafuyu nearly stood too, following Yuuki by instinct, but he was sure he would physically sat back down if he tried. 

But from that angle, he could get a good look at him. Yuuki already had his sleeves rolled up, and Mafuyu had felt the chill of mint in his breath. He was more than prepared to leave—giving him more than enough reason to decline a request to accompany him.

With a sliver a hope still remaining, Mafuyu uttered, “I want to come.”

Yuuki hesitated for a moment as if he was truly considered it but, ultimately, shook his head with that grin still on his lips. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you,” Yuuki bent at the back to ruffle Mafuyu’s hair, making strands of auburn fall into his face, “should get some sleep.”

With that, he stepped back, turned around, and got to unraveling the rope that secured the door. The precautionary measure was Yuuki’s idea, and, according to him, taken more to prevent the living from entering than the infected. At least with such a barrier they could have time to arm themselves in case the intruder was hostile, for the state of the city was enough to make anyone less of a humanitarian. 

“Shut the door behind me, alright?” 

Mafuyu stood and shuffled towards the door. Hand gripping the strap of his emptied school bag as it rested his shoulder, Yuuki stood on the other side of the doorframe, the glass windows behind him revealing a view of the outdoors. It was almost like he was stepping outside of their little world by leaving, no matter how far he was going.

“Be safe.”

Yuuki narrowed his eyes. Leaned closer. As Yuuki merely stared at him, face just centimeters away from his, Mafuyu stayed rigid. And after analyzing for so long that whatever he was staring at had to be committed to memory, Yuuki pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and stepped back. 

“Stop worrying.” As he walked towards the entrance of the convenience store, he called over his shoulder, “You’ll know when it’s me.”

Indeed, Mafuyu would. As if music pulsed through his body, Yuuki’s knock had a distinct rhythm to it, one that Mafuyu wouldn’t ever mistake for another’s after hearing it so often over so many years. Just thinking about it, he could hear the beat.

When the door was secured, Mafuyu sat back down. He tried lying down, but lying alone didn’t feel right.

He put Yuuki’s sweater on, feeling the warmth envelope him.

And he waited.

* * *

As soon as knocks at the door that indicated Yuuki’s presence sounded, Mafuyu scrambled to his feet. Rolling up the sleeves of Yuuki’s sweater after they fell onto his hands, he unknotted the rope that held the double doors together, hands moving with urgency.

When the last knot was out and he pulled the length from between the handles, the door barrelled open. Slightly hunched over, Yuuki stumbled in and leaned against the wall, clutching his arm proper. On first glance, Mafuyu could name a number of things wrong with the situation: Yuuki’s face was twisted in agony, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched, and a strip of his shirt had been torn off, presumably to make the bloodied tourniquet that peeked out from beneath Yuuki’s hand.

A pit formed and expanded in Mafuyu’s stomach within seconds.

“Yuuki . . .” Mafuyu uttered, voice barely audible. He took a step forward and reached out a hand, and at the same time, Yuuki opened his eyes.

“No, no. It’s okay.” He straightened, his hand still clutching his arm. “_It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay—_”

Hearing the words grow quicker and more anguished, Mafuyu realized that Yuuki wasn’t just telling him anymore. He was telling _himself_ until he believed it.

“Mafuyu, the door.” Yuuki jerked his head towards the entrance to their hideout. One of the doors was still ajar, and with Yuuki bleeding the way he was—enough to dye white fabric red—leaving it that way would have been a death sentence for both of them. 

Mafuyu looked down. He hadn’t even noticed the weight of the rope still in his hands.

Nonetheless, he turned to the door, threaded the rope through the handles, and pulled, tying and looping it to secure it. He didn’t know how tight he was tugging it until he retracted his hand and saw that his palms had reddened.

“Open the back, please.” Mafuyu nodded, glancing at Yuuki as he passed by him. With difficulty, Yuuki untied the makeshift bandage on his forearm, hissing when he pulled it back. Mafuyu tried to get a look at the injury to see how severe it was, to potentially settle the uneasiness in his stomach, but Yuuki covered it again the moment he saw him looking. 

Tearing his eyes away, Mafuyu got to work at opening the back door. Behind him, Yuuki walked to the opposite corner of the room and rummaged through their supplies, a thing or two occasionally hitting the ground. By the time Mafuyu dropped the rope on the ground and pulled the door open a bit, Yuuki was standing next to him with the box of first aid supplies, a clean t-shirt, and a half-emptied water bottle in hand.

He looked at Mafuyu, but Mafuyu looked at that wound.

“You didn’t . . .”

“Didn’t what?” Yuuki asked, eyebrows drawn together. Mafuyu forced himself to focus on the rise and fall of his chest, on the tones in his tan skin that were red, but not _too_ red.

He breathed, though it was hardly steady. He was alive. He was okay, and Mafuyu needed to stop worrying if he knew what was good for him.

“Oh,” Yuuki breathed, eyes widening in realization. “No. No, not that. Never that. It’s just a scratch, okay? A really fucking painful scratch.”

Mafuyu looked at the wound again, staring at the ground almost immediately after laying eyes on it. He wanted to believe Yuuki. He honestly, truly, genuinely did—

“Hey.” Yuuki pulled the door handle with a finger to open it a crack, opening it the rest of the way with a decent kick. Back pressed against it, he looked at Mafuyu. “Trust me.”

Without thinking, Mafuyu responded, “I do.”

“Good.” Yuuki flashed him a smile. “I’ll be right back in. Get some rest.”

“I’ve rested enough. I can help—”

“Rest more.” With that, Yuuki slipped out of the door and let it shut behind him. Through the sliver of space left before the doorframe, Mafuyu watched. He watched as Yuuki sat against the outer wall of storage room, as he stuffed the shirt into his mouth, and as he slowly peeled the tourniquet from his far arm, biting down hard on the cotton. He watched as he opened the water bottle and generously poured some of the contents onto the so-called scratch, then unlatched the first aid kit and pulled out disinfectant, a needle, and thread.

But he couldn’t watch him stitch himself back together. Not because it was too gruesome—Mafuyu could handle a bit of blood—but because Yuuki shouldn’t have been doing such a thing, at least not on his own. It would only hurt more and be less precise, but judging by his reaction (or lack of one) to Mafuyu’s offer for help, that wasn’t enough to prevent him from doing it on his own anyway.

So as he lie down to rest like Yuuki requested, Mafuyu prayed to whomever listened. He prayed that Yuuki wasn’t hiding anything. He prayed that the feeling in his stomach would dissipate. He prayed for them and their future, because he believed in one for them.

But still, when he closed his eyes, it was the image of Yuuki’s pained face he saw.

* * *

Yuuki seemed surprisingly fine rather quickly—as fine as one could be after dragging a needle and thread through their own skin.

Every now and then, he would shift his arm the wrong way and wince or sit up and place his hand atop the wound as if that would make the numbness go away, but he was okay. He still smiled and laughed as he always did despite a previously nonexistent sliver of pain being behind every gesture. For a few moments every now and then, it was easy to forget that he had been wounded so severely just the other day. Until the bulky mess of an attempt to bandage the wound that he simply wouldn’t let be fixed no matter how long or how often it was suggestively glared at caught Mafuyu’s eye again, at least. 

In exchange for his constant resistance of help, he was given one order: rest. He laughed when it was first presented to him, but it gradually became more and more agitating—he kept trying to stand or help with something, and being pushed back down was visibly irking. Like a child, he was: completely unable to sit still for more than bite-sized periods of time.

On the third day, seeing that Yuuki had rested enough and was damn near ready to explode, Mafuyu uttered, “Aren’t you going to do something?” 

Yuuki looked at him, really looked, then nearly jumped up. Just like the small lift in his spirits was more than enough for Mafuyu, the belief that the little amount of liberty he had been deprived of had been regained was enough for Yuuki, even though he hardly had anything to do or anywhere to go. He had made what was nothing more than a small, deserted building feel like a home, though, so Mafuyu was sure he would find _something_.

He just didn’t expect that something to be what it turned out to be. 

Mafuyu mostly disregarded the sound of the back door opening, for it had been so long since Yuuki had gotten air that he would have been more surprised if he _wasn’t_ desperate to get some air, even if it wasn’t so fresh—until he didn’t disregard it. Until he decided to step outside to see just what Yuuki was up to and was met with the sight of him staring at the same thing that caught his eye weeks ago.

“What are you doing?”

Yuuki looked up, eyebrows raised and eyes innocent. As if his actions weren’t concerning in the slightest. 

“I thought I should figure this thing out.”

“Why?” Before Yuuki could answer—Mafuyu was sure that he knew what he was going to say, anyway, and though he didn’t necessarily doubt those intentions, that wasn’t feeling like enough—Mafuyu looked at the bandages on his counterpart’s arm, then at the gun in his hands. “How did you get hurt?”

Yuuki shrugged, his left shoulder lifting more than his right for the sake of his injured arm. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. Got scratched by a sharp low-hanging branch.”

And Mafuyu tried to hide his disbelief upon hearing the explanation that didn’t seem like it was even meant to be convincing, but he was almost sure that he let it slip somehow.

Any other time, he would have let Yuuki have it. 

But this wasn’t any other time. He had been scared half to death mere days ago after watching him stagger in bloody and sluggish, and even now, he couldn’t look at Yuuki without a cloud of anxiety forming and hovering above his head.

“So, what? Are you going to shoot the next low-hanging branch?”

“Ha-ha,” Yuuki humorously laughed at the snarky remark. Mafuyu crossed his arms, looking off into the distance. “No, wait. Can you hold this?”

Mafuyu looked at him. At the gun. Back at him.

Rolling his shoulders back, Yuuki explained, “My arm is numb. You don’t have to. I’m sorry—”

Mafuyu untucked his right arm from beneath his left, the motion unbearably slow, and held at his hands in front of him, the two forming a cradle. When Yuuki only looked at him, saying and doing nothing else, Mafuyu insistently pushed his hands out further.

“Not . . . not like that.” 

Ever-so-delicately, Yuuki wrapped Mafuyu’s right hand around the grip, individually pushing each of his fingers down. When Mafuyu didn’t move his left hand, Yuuki took that one, too, and placed it on top of the other.

He stepped back and examined his work.

“Maybe like this . . .” He moved Mafuyu’s left hand so both of his thumbs were stacked. Then he pulled his trigger finger from the pile and set it next to the trigger guard. Noticing Mafuyu’s bent arms, he stretched them out. “How does that feel?”

“Heavy.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Yuuki chuckled. His laugh was infectious—it always had been—but right then, Mafuyu was immune. “Does it feel comfortable?”

“No.”

“Fair. Could it possibly feel more uncomfortable?”

“I guess.”

“Are you mad right now?”

Mafuyu glanced at him. He’d hesitated so much due to the suddenness of the question that he was sure his answer would be unconvincing, but it was truthful, “No.”

Without a hint of doubt, Yuuki hummed. “Okay. Good. Now, let’s say you wanted to shoot—”

If Mafuyu wasn’t scared that the damned thing would fire if he did, he would have dropped the gun. “I don’t.”

“You know I won’t make you. But if you did want to, would you know how?”

Mafuyu mumbled, “I don’t know.”

Yuuki pulled down the hammer, put his left index finger next to the trigger, and demonstratively curled the tip back. “Bang.”

“Okay.”

Before the gun was even lowered, Yuuki grabbed it out of Mafuyu’s hand with his left, letting the latter slowly loosen his grip. Mafuyu didn’t exactly know if expressing his gratitude was the right thing to do, so he didn’t.

But he felt relieved as he let go of the object that took a human life and could just as easily take another. If it wasn’t verbalized, it was written on his face.

“Well, thank you,” Yuuki said, heading back inside. Mafuyu watched him as he walked, dumbfounded, then proceeded behind him.

“I thought you said you wanted to figure it out?”

Yuuki stopped, and, though he was a few paces behind, Mafuyu stopped, too. For a few moments, Yuuki stayed still—until, with a small smile, he looked over his shoulder. 

“I think I got it now.”

And he walked inside. Mafuyu figured he was expected to follow, but his feet were planted on the ground as though roots had sprung through the dirt and wrapped around his ankles to trap him there.

A smile that was typically so warm, so inviting, seemed chilling then.

Mafuyu looked down at his hands. 

He wasn’t holding anything, yet they felt like they were being weighed down by something.

* * *

Mafuyu spoke too soon when he said that Yuuki was fine. 

He wasn’t.

It took a little over a week for a fever to develop, when it did, the symptoms presented themselves in full force. The temperature outside hadn’t cooled, yet Yuuki shivered, even when he kept his shirt and sweater on. In stunning contrast, he sweat so profusely that Mafuyu had to remain stationed beside him with a damp cloth ripped from a stolen tee in hand. With the other, he pushed back Yuuki’s moistened hair.

And he sat there. As Yuuki slept on and off, as his head pounded, as he groaned; Mafuyu stayed by his side. When Yuuki asked him to hum for him between naps, he did. He hummed whatever tune came to mind as melodically as he could despite a sinking feeling overtaking him more and more with every passing moment.

Yuuki didn’t get sick. 

Not when Mafuyu did, even when he stayed by his side through the most miserable points and put himself at direct risk of obtaining the virus. Not during the seasons where the common cold was so common that it was near impossible to _not_ get one. Some sort of immunity, Yuuki seemed to have, to everything ranging from the common cold to the stomach flu.

Yuuki didn’t get sick.

Perhaps this fever being so intense was the result of all the sickness Yuuki dodged over the years. It was understandable that his body was unsure of how to react to illness, but that didn’t seem to be all; he was almost unrecognizable in that state. When he was awake, he was quiet and pained, but that was seldom. He slept and he slept, and when he awoke at dusk after going to sleep at dawn, he would stay up for a few hours at most before sleeping again.

Yuuki didn’t get sick.

Mafuyu didn’t know how lonely it would be when he did. 

With so much time to think, he figured it was an infection from whatever wound Yuuki had gotten a week ago. But having an explanation for the sudden affliction didn’t make it better; if anything, it made it worse. A fever from a cold was simple. An infection was worrisome considering what _infections_ were doing to those outside.

Mafuyu stopped himself before that thought could be developed further.

Instead, he kissed Yuuki’s feverish cheeks and watched him sleep until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open. And when he opened them back—a couple of hours later, seeing as the sun had come up—Yuuki was sitting upright against the shelf opposite Mafuyu. His eyes were open, but just barely. As if he were consciously preventing them from shutting.

“How are you feeling?” Mafuyu asked.

“Mm . . . gross.”

“I know.” Mafuyu frowned, reaching out a hand to place against Yuuki’s cheek. Somehow, he felt even warmer than before. Mafuyu cursed himself for allowing himself to sleep, even though staying awake couldn’t have prevented Yuuki from getting worse. 

He didn’t know what he could have done, nor did he know what to do now. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

He stood, but before he could take a step towards the door, Yuuki grabbed his wrist.

“What’s wrong?” When he failed to get a response, Mafuyu bent at the back to look at Yuuki. 

Rather than speaking, Yuuki squeezed and let go. 

Mafuyu stayed bent over for a second, scanning his face. When he straightened, he straightened slowly, keeping his eyes on Yuuki from the moment he began to open the back door until the moment it shut behind him.

He was still so tired that he couldn’t carry the water in so it could be conveniently placed next to him. He once again wet the cloth he had used to wipe the sweat from Yuuki’s face before. The water was uncomfortably warm, but it would suffice. 

As he wrung out the water, he felt arms wrap around him from behind. 

At the sudden contact, he jumped, the cloth falling from his hands, and looked over his shoulder. At the sight of blonde hair, his heart rate settled. “I said I would be right back—”

He felt the sobs before he heard them.

Yuuki’s body trembled, and from his lips fell incoherent whispers that only grew in volume. Mafuyu turned around, heart dropping when he saw what Yuuki held in his hands.

“Yuuki.”

“I’m sorry.”

When Mafuyu made out his words for the first time, he felt his chest clench. Yuuki said it again, the proximity of the words so close that they began to blend into each other again.

“_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—_”

“Why are you sorry?”

Tears fell from Yuuki’s eyes as he, without the slightest explanation, took off the clothes covering his torso, each droplet seeping into the soil on the ground. When he finally undid the last button on his shirt, he reached for his bandages and fumbled as he tried to unwrap them, stopping only after Mafuyu placed a hand atop his and looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

That silent glance conveyed the words “can I?” perfectly.

Yuuki nodded.

As gently as he could, Mafuyu undid the wrapping covering the wound. At the lower layers, he worked even more carefully, seeing as the blood made the cloth stick and prying it off with no delicacy would undoubtedly bring Yuuki pain. Every time Yuuki winced, Mafuyu would utter, “I’m sorry.”

Not once did Yuuki tell him it was okay.

When he pulled the bandage back at last, he didn’t look at the wound immediately. He folded the bandages in on each other. Set them to the side.

Only then did he look. 

And it was a morbid thing. An attempt to stitch the skin back together after it had been broken had clearly been made, but they looked as though they were both done by unsteady hands and completely ineffective. The skin had become purple among the deep red of the dried blood. The bite mark was undeniably that.

Mafuyu thought he could be sick.

Hoarsely, he asked. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t want you to be scared or different or have to act like you were happy. I wanted to be with _you_, the real you, until—”

“What are we supposed to do? You’re already sick when could have found a cure and you could have gotten better before we got to this point and—”

“There is no cure!” Yuuki sobbed, standing. He staggered when he got to his feet, giving Mafuyu time to scramble to his feet as well, eyes on the gun. He watched as Yuuki’s grip on it loosened, then tightened. “You promised.”

“What?”

“You _promised_ me . . . you wouldn’t let me turn . . . we’d take back control—”

Mafuyu shook his head, voice nearly inaudible as he whispered, “No. No, I can’t.”

The thought of Yuuki dying by a gun was damaging enough, but the thought of Mafuyu carrying out that death was traumatizing. He could never hurt him, couldn’t even fathom attempting, not when Yuuki’s existence had been dedicated to protecting Mafuyu at every turn. 

But the thought of Yuuki turning was equally as traumatizing. His biggest fear slowly engulfing him would surely alter Yuuki’s mind, just like the illness slowly taking over his body would.

Mafuyu quickly realized that no matter what he chose or didn’t choose to do, he wouldn’t win. 

He could either watch Yuuki morph into someone else, doing away with all the years of learning him inside out, or he could relieve Yuuki of the burden of pulling the trigger himself. 

He wanted to do neither, but he picked one.

Mafuyu took the gun. 

Yuuki flashed him a sorrowful smile, one so heartbreaking that Mafuyu had to look away. That wasn’t how he wanted to remember it. He wanted to remember the warm, radiant one that managed to accelerate his heartbeat every time, that made him feel light. If could have erased the image of tears streaming down Yuuki’s face as his lips turned up to ensure that his memory would only be occupied by the former, he would have.

Yuuki stumbled a few feet away, and Mafuyu stared at his back as he went. He wanted to memorize every inch of his body so that when he was gone, Mafuyu could think him up so vividly, so accurately that it was as though he was still there. He couldn’t miss a thing. Not a piercing, not a strand of hair, not an eyelash. He closed his eyes and tried to piece the image back together just to try, just to practice, but found that Yuuki had turned back around upon opening them to check his work.

“Hey,” Yuuki uttered, wiping his face with the back of his hands. His sobs were subduing, somehow—his body trembled a bit less. His sniffs grew irregular, then rare. “I love you—”

“I love you too—“

“No, no. Listen. I love you,” Yuuki repeated. He closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath, opening them back. “and if all the love in the world ran out, I would adore you. If all the adoration in the world ran out, I would want you and cherish you and wish for the best for you. Always. You’re my best friend, and I’m so glad it’s you I got to be in love with. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better if I tried.”

A tear slid down Mafuyu’s cheek, and he promptly used his free hand to wipe it away.

He couldn’t remember when he last cried.

“Why are you crying?” Yuuki asked, that smile spreading on his lips again. Mafuyu felt tempted to look away again, but something stopped him. That smile was heartbreaking, but it was just as . . . calm. Comforting. “We still have a garden to build, don’t we?”

Mafuyu’s lips parted as his eyes widened, though his vision was blurred.

“And we’ll plant cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums and . . .”

“Sunflowers?”

“Yeah. And I’ll bring you a bouquet every morning, remember?”

Mafuyu shook his head, sniffing. “No, you’ll forget.”

“How could I?” Yuuki asked. Eyes closing once again, he rolled his shoulders back. Straightened his spine. “And we’ll have vegetables, right? I won’t know what to do with them until you do, but we’ll make use of them someway.”

“Yeah . . . we will.” The phrase was broken up with a sob as Mafuyu raised his arms, stacking his thumbs around the grip of the gun the same way Yuuki showed him. His hands were shaking, so much that he had to clutch his right hand with his left to keep it steady.

Yuuki didn’t protest. Didn’t flinch.

“And we’ll fuck it up so many times. We’ll accidentally plant radishes when we’re trying to grow turnips, but when we get it right, it’ll be the happiest day.”

_In our lives,_ what he said before, was absent now. 

Mafuyu took off the safety. “I’ll meet you there.”

“You won’t keep me waiting for too long, will you?” Mafuyu could sense the playfulness in his words, but that tone he used when he was telling a joke or speaking sarcastically was nowhere to be found. 

“No. No, of course not.”

“But you won’t be there too soon either?”

As he put his index finger on the trigger, Mafuyu forced out a “no.”

The word was still faint, no matter how much he coaxed his voice to come out.

“Okay.” Yuuki took a deep, final breath. “I’ll be waiting at the gates.”

Mafuyu blinked his eyes to rid them off the tears, so he could see a bit clearer. Yuuki stood there, still sweating with hair still damp, but he looked as if he couldn’t have been happier. He smiled, stood so triumphantly. Like his life was his own again.

“I’ve loved you.” 

He had. For what seemed to be every minute, every hour, every day of his waking life. Mafuyu had loved Yuuki on the days where it felt as though there was nothing else in the world to love, and he’d loved him on the days where he felt void of any other feeling.

He’d loved him fiercely. He’d loved him constantly.

He’d loved him.

Yuuki’s response was swift.

First, a “not half as much as I’ve loved you.” 

Then, a whisper of “now.” 

Mafuyu squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. 

Time seemed to have stopped for a moment.

Until it began again.

As Yuuki fell to the ground, Mafuyu fell to his knees. He didn’t know how they ended up there, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not how exactly Yuuki got bitten, not during what moment he decided to keep it a secret, not what was going through his mind as his life slipped away.

None of it mattered now.

Mafuyu planted his right foot beneath him. His left. And as unsteadily as Yuuki had moments ago, he stood, turning the safety back on the gun and his back to the immobile body of a boy who was once so lively, and walked into the provisional home that had turned into a tomb encasing two boys in love. One of them was still alive, but he wasn’t who he had been. One of them had been saved from a transformation, but the other underwent a different one within the split second that it takes for a bullet to leave a gun and lodge itself into a victim.

Mafuyu grabbed their things—his things—and zipped up the guitar case. He wondered if he would ever be able to get Yuuki’s guitar back. He wondered if the owners would disregard the fact that he had broken in and kindly hand it over, for he hadn’t stolen anything but food that would have rotten and bottled water that would have expired.

For the first time, he wondered if they were even alive.

He placed a strap of the guitar case on either shoulder, layering both his and Yuuki’s schoolbags on top, and walked out, leaving the door open behind him. On the pavement outside, he grabbed Yuuki’s sweater and shirt from where they lay bundled on the ground. Tucking both the tawny cardigan and the handgun under his arm, he took the opposite ends of the button down in either hand. 

He walked to where Yuuki lay, eyes eternally shut and lips eternally frozen in that smile, and draped it over him. 

With a kiss placed to Yuuki’s cloth-covered forehead, Mafuyu took the gun in his left hand and one of the only pieces of Yuuki he had in his right. 

He took a step towards the city they had both escaped hand in hand.

As he walked, Mafuyu couldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry for Yuuki, who had to bear such a terrible burden alone because he wanted to spend his last days with the truest version of the boy he loved possible. He couldn’t cry for himself, even though he already felt so, so lonely and so, so _guilty_.

He couldn’t cry for their future, even though he had believed in one for them.

He couldn’t cry, so he thought. He thought about Yuuki. Thought about his life, about how it ended, about what was next for him. There had to be something next. 

There had to be a final destination.

And wherever it was, wherever he had gone, Mafuyu hoped there was a garden.


End file.
